Fata organa
by Ryne42
Summary: Sometimes when they talk, Arthur has a feeling that he and Merlin are operating on completely different levels.
1. Chapter 1

**Category:** Gen, canon  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Arthur  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Summary:** A conversation between Merlin and Arthur after 1x13, in which Merlin has a small existential crisis and Arthur is less than sympathetic.  
**Notes:** Fata organa — n. _a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom — as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production._ — Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

My submission to the drabble exchange over on the Heart of Camelot. Written for Wilma. Special thanks to CaptainOzone for looking this over for me. :)

* * *

It had been a week since Gaius had come back with his miracle cure, a week since Merlin had said his strange non-farewell and then went missing with Gaius before returning several days later, quiet and subdued and even more awkward than usual. He sped through his chores with hardly a word, and then left without a dismissal, which Arthur thought was improprietous even for him until Gwen stopped by and mentioned that his mother was in Camelot and had almost died of a mysterious illness.

After that, Arthur stopped glaring at him disapprovingly and started inquiring after her health instead, and slowly Merlin lost the wild, fearful look in his eye and began to talk again, and even though Hunith eventually left for Ealdor and Arthur was still cooped up in his room to recover, things finally shifted back towards normalcy.

Until the storm hit.

Arthur, for lack of anything better to do, had been watching it brew outside his window all afternoon and was not at all surprised by the first clap of thunder; but Merlin had been moving around all day without a chance to look outside, and he jumped in his chair and dropped the sword he had been polishing.

"_Careful_," Arthur barked, even though it was only decorative, and Merlin was really only polishing it to keep him company.

But Merlin didn't seem to hear him; instead he picked up the sword and made his way over to the window without resuming the constant chatter that he'd been keeping up all evening. There was a flash of lightning, and for a split second Merlin was limned with light, and Arthur could see that he was taut as a bowstring, gripping his rag and the hilt of the decorative sword as if poised to do battle.

"Scared of a little thunder, Merlin?" Arthur scoffed, taking a sip of wine. "Too bad your mother just left, you can't run and hide behind her skirts." But still, even though Arthur was cringing at his own insensitivity — Merlin had, of course, been very upset when his mother went home — his taunt went unanswered and unacknowledged as Merlin continued to watch the downpour, and Arthur started to get concerned.

"Merlin," he said. "_Merlin_." And finally his servant jerked as if being pulled from a memory, and though he didn't turn around, he was no longer quite so still. "Merlin, _what_ is it?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Nothing," Merlin replied distantly. "I was just wondering where... where lightning comes from."

Arthur stared.

Merlin continued as if he were talking to himself. "It's... it's light and heat and fire, and it just... it comes out of _nowhere_ when it rains, but that's _impossible_, everything has to come from _somewhere_, and besides it wasn't even raining when I—"

"Have you been drinking?" Arthur interrupted, even though Merlin had been with him all day; and Merlin finally seemed aware that he had an audience and looked almost terrified to see that it was Arthur.

"_No_," he said. "No, of course not. But — where does it come from, Arthur? Where do _you_ think it comes from? It's _important_," he added fiercely when he noticed Arthur's skepticism.

Arthur couldn't think of any reason why it would be, but Merlin looked desperate and over the past few days Arthur had come to hate that expression, so Arthur gave in and pondered it for a few seconds, shrugged, and said, "I dunno... the gods, probably."

Thunder rumbled in the background, and Merlin went very, very still.

"But — but _no_," he said hoarsely, looking ashen even in the torchlight. "_No_. I'm not — it _can't_ be them. They can't be the ones who — who control lightning, because I — they _can't be_."

"Well, _who else_, then?"

"Sorcerers," Merlin answered without hesitation.

"Sorcerers can't control the _weather_," Arthur said scornfully, pouring himself another glass of wine. "They can't possibly have that power. Besides, even if they did, there aren't any left who are that powerful. There are hardly any sorcerers in Camelot, and if they could control the weather, Father would definitely have heard of them, and they'd be executed — as they should be. If they can call down lightning from the sky, they're obviously too dangerous."

"You're wrong," said Merlin, and Arthur stared again. Merlin was trembling. "I've ca — I've seen someone call down lightning, and he wasn't a threat — not to Camelot, anyway—"

"_Not a threat to Camelot_," Arthur repeated in disbelief. "Merlin, _every_ sorcerer is a threat to Camelot. And I'm supposed to trust your judgement on this? I can hardly trust you to _polish my armor_ properly, and now you're talking nonsense about lightning and sorcerers. And when would you have time to see this so-called _friendly sorcerer,_ eh? Is that where you go when you're supposed to be cleaning the stables?"

"Don't think you know everything about my life, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin snapped, and Arthur almost dropped his goblet at the venom in his voice. A flash of lightning illuminated him from behind, and suddenly he looked dangerous and terrible, standing stiff and proud with Arthur's sword, and Arthur thought that he had no right to look that way but somehow — impossibly, illogically — it _fit_. "I have seen things — I have _done_ things you know nothing about."

He stepped towards Arthur, hefting the sword, and for a moment Arthur felt a brief flash of fear —- but all Merlin did was drop it on the table in front of him with a clatter before turning towards the door. "Where are you going? I haven't dismissed you," Arthur called to his retreating back, latching onto propriety because he didn't know what to make of what Merlin had said, because how could he?

"Somewhere I'm wanted," Merlin bit out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Arthur alone, startled and bewildered and more than a little unnerved.

And outside, the storm raged on.


	2. Chapter 2

**Category:** Gen, canon  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Arthur  
**Rating/Warnings: **K  
**Summary:** Arthur's idle conversation has an unexpected effect.  
**Notes:** Last night I suddenly remembered that I was writing a sequel to this, but I couldn't for the life of me remember what it was. I opened up my document to check... and ended up finishing it. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

"I've always thought I'd die in battle," Arthur confided, shifting slightly in his bedroll and sighing contentedly. It was summer, almost unbearably hot, and his father had given him leave to go hunting for a few days. "Sword in hand, defending my kingdom... it'd be a heroic death, one befitting the king of Camelot. There'd be songs about it. Poems."

Merlin snickered.

"Oh, shut up," Arthur said as he scowled across the fire at him. "Alright then, what about you? How have you always pictured it?"

The campfire cast odd shadows on Merlin's face as his expression froze. "Eh, I can't say I've given it much thought, but I'd say... your neck breaking 'cause of your fat head," Merlin answered, deliberately obtuse as per usual, but there was an unusual brittleness to his smile that Arthur missed in his indignation.

"I don't have a fat head," Arthur retorted.

"'Course you do," Merlin replied sagely, sounding curiously relieved. "Fattest in all the kingdoms. It's a wonder you can get your crown on at all, really..."

It was some time before they settled down after that, but when the name-calling finally subsided, Arthur pillowed his head in his arms and watched the stars through the gaps in the leaves, content in a way that only a good argument could make him. He let his thoughts drift lazily as a warm summer breeze stirred the branches above their heads, and finally they led him full-circle.

"Merlin?"

"Mmm?"

"You never answered my question."

"What's your question?" Merlin murmured, sounding as if he were barely awake.

"How do you think you're going to die?"

At first Arthur thought that his silence meant that he'd fallen asleep, question or no, but when he glanced over to check, he saw that Merlin's eyes were wide open, staring hard at the fire as they reflected the flames. His expression was set and wary, but then his eyes darted to see Arthur watching him and forced a grin that looked skeletal. "Never really thought about it," he said, raising and lowering shoulder in a casual shrug that shifted his blankets all around.

"Oh, come on, you must have. Everyone has. Especially with all the close calls we've had - it'd leave anyone thinking about death, even a little coward like you. Yours isn't something _boring_, is it? Like... like, disease, or old age or something?" Silence again. "It is, isn't it? Which is it, then?"

"I never thought I'd live to an old age," Merlin finally said, his voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the crackling of their fire. "Not even when I was a boy."

"Really?" Arthur asked, propping himself up on one elbow. "Why is that?" Even amidst all the dreams of glory and song, he'd allowed himself one scenario in which he lived until he was old and grey. In it he lay in his bed, surrounded by his loved ones — Morgana, a few vaguely-featured children, a son who looked just like him, and (more recently) Guinevere, looking just as beautiful as ever. But Merlin was always there, just as old and grey as he was, still at his side, and it was that image that made him say, "I've always thought you'd die an old man."

"Because I'm such a coward?" Merlin retorted, so frigidly that Arthur felt almost as though the temperature in the clearing had dropped a bit.

"No — of course not," Arthur replied, taken aback. "I just — I just don't think you'd die in combat, is all." Merlin did seem to have an uncanny ability to escape unscathed from all of their skirmishes, no matter that he never carried a weapon or wore any armor, so he wasn't even telling a lie.

In the light of the fire, Merlin's face was closed and pinched; a little furrow had appeared between his eyes.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur finally asked, half exasperated and half curious about what had gotten his manservant so riled. There was no answer. "Look, I'm sorry I called you a coward. I've just... I've seen you behind too many trees during fights, I guess. Hiding very bravely." Silence. "And old age isn't a coward's death. My father's probably going to die of old age, and he isn't a coward." Merlin's face twitched, but there was no other response. "Unless some dirty great sorcerer comes and finishes him off first, I guess," Arthur mused, and Merlin finally reacted.

"Alright," Merlin snapped, sitting up abruptly. "Fine, I'll tell you. You want to know how I think I'm going to die? Because I think about it all the time. Being burnt. Being beheaded. Drowned. Hanged. Or — or blown up, by some other — some sorcerer. And every time, my mother waits at home for me to visit and I never come because you never bother to tell her, and I think about it all the time, Arthur, and I still follow you into battle and out on these _ridiculous_ quests, so don't you _dare_ tell me that I'm a coward. Don't you dare."

Then he lay down again, his back deliberately to Arthur, and did not speak another word.

Arthur stared at him, feeling lost. None of those scenarios made sense. None more so than old age, at least. And so he could think of nothing to say, not for ages, not until he was certain that Merlin was already asleep, but he said it anyway. "Of course I'd tell your mother," he whispered, sure that Merlin couldn't hear him.

But across the fire Merlin tensed, and the set of his back seemed to say, _"Would you?"_


End file.
